Friday, April 26, 2013

Thank you to this week's judge, @moonlit__girl. I asked her a few of my judgey questions.1. What is the best piece of writing advice you’ve been given? Write every day. Don't edit as you go. You can't do anything with words if you leave them stuck in your head. Once they're on paper, you can play with them later. 2. The first and last books you fell in love with? The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I think I was about 9 years old. I read it over and over. Recently I've fallen in love with A Moveable Feast by Hemingway. The way he writes about writing and about Paris makes me want to be there.3. What are you listening to right now? My kids arguing in the kitchen and traffic driving by my flat.4. If you could be a superhero, what would your super power be? I would want to be a female version of Aquaman, so I could breathe underwater. Poor Aquaman was totally underrated. Probably because not much evil goes down underwater. 5. Suppose you could travel to any place in time and history. When and where are you going? Bethel, NY 1969- Woodstock Festival.

First of all, I want to thank all of you for writing. I chose this picture because when I saw it I wanted to know this girl. I had no idea that it would evoke such a variety of responses- the differences in point of view, format, and mood were immense! And that you could all start from one picture and end up in such different places... I love that.

Choosing a winner was a little overwhelming. They were all good but there were a few that stuck in my head, that I kept going back to, kept reading over and over. Ones that I found myself wondering what happened next. Here they are:

WINNER ... @AnnaLund2011

“In this small café at the end of the world, I finally see clearly.” How do you thank someone for taking what was in your mind and writing it so beautifully? This is pretty much spot on with what I was thinking when I saw the photograph. This sentence: “So I watch the rain as it makes its way down the glass window, running down in sweet rivulets, and think to myself that it is the only thing that makes sense today.” And this one: “I put my hand up, just to feel something real.” So wonderful. I think everyone has felt this way, for at least a moment. But you really captured it. Thank you so much-

The rain. The rain.

The rain, he said, was going to wash it all away.

In this small café at the end of the world, I finally see clearly. Through rain-stained windows, I watch, and finally see.

The people around me are not my people.

They are all your people; I am so out of sync with who I am. I am lost, and I can’t find me.

The rain was going to cleanse and rinse and cleanse and rinse and cleanse and rinse and—and—

It did not.

All it did was make everything look miserable and wet.

So I watch the rain as it makes its way down the glass window, running down in sweet rivulets, and think to myself that it is the only thing that makes sense today. It comes from above. It runs downward. It ends up in the gutter.

I put my hand up, just to feel something real.

Some days, that’s all you can handle.

Basic gravity.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS, IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:

@Twilightladies1

The story is familiar but the way you wrote it is not. It’s wonderful, so sad and yet I’m left with a feeling of hope. I know this woman, and I’m crying with her, and mad at him- but please please let him explain! “You stand there, shivering and soaked to the bone.” Maybe it will be all right. There’s always hope. (And then I realize that the story could be from either point of view- maybe it’s the husband sitting in the cabin, the wife at the door. But I don’t think so.) Thank you-

I pull the old woolen blanket tighter around my shoulders, seeking any sort of warmth. The power’s been out for hours now and the only source of light and heat comes from the small fireplace in the corner.

The wind continues to roar outside, rain pounding against the window, as I endure what should have been a romantic weekend away together. We should be celebrating our one year anniversary. We’ve survived so much together and things were finally getting on track for us.

We were happy...or so I thought.

We had a future together...or so I thought.

Sipping my wine, the tears fall and the memories overwhelm me. You had to work late and I wanted to surprise you.

I take another sip, letting the warmth flow through me. Its calming fog is not fast enough.

A pounding on the cabin door startles me.

You stand there, shivering and soaked to the bone.

“Please let me explain.”

@sandyquill

You’ve painted such a heartwrenching picture here. I can see the scene so vividly. Girl waiting, Mom trying to make her feel better, distract her, by doing mom-things. Trying to fill the silence but realizing she can’t help. The fact that you’ve made the girl blind is an interesting detail. And this paragraph is sort of perfect: “The beverage cooled, unsipped, unremembered. Rain clouds slid away to reveal a ribbon of sunlight that touched the grass outside the window. An engine roared before cutting away to silence and her daughter gasped.” Thank you-

It broke her heart to see her daughter thus. To see the vibrant girl sit, poised by the window, waiting. Sightless eyes unfocused, hand barely caressing the cool pane of glass.

“Sweetheart? I made some hot cocoa, with the Hershey’s, like you like it.”

No answer. Not even a puff of breath to warm the glass.

Unable to relax, the mother held her own cocoa, the heated cup warming her palms. She stood in shadow, her heart twisting in her chest.

The beverage cooled, unsipped, unremembered. Rain clouds slid away to reveal a ribbon of sunlight that touched the grass outside the window. An engine roared before cutting away to silence and her daughter gasped.

It was him.

As a mother, she didn’t know whether to hug the guy or kick him in the balls for making her daughter cry.

Cupping the girl’s face, the mother kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be right here.”

With confidence bred of years of sightless motion, the girl stepped to the front door.

@CrackedFic

These words, oh my, these words. They hit me like an unexpected punch in the face. I read them through three times without blinking. I found myself wanting to crawl into your brain and follow your thought process from the moment you saw the photo to when you typed your last word. I kept going back to “it takes her seven tries to get the photograph right.” and “what they say is true.”Your words are powerful. Thank you-

Epitaph

* there are no windows in prison.

* sometimes the guards fuck the inmates.

* with great power comes great responsibility.

* or, conversely, irresponsibility.

* no outside electronic devices are permitted.

* but neither is guard-inmate sex.

* a camera can be hidden nearly anywhere these days and smuggled in.

* strip searches don't work when the subject is forced to perform fellatio.

* the showers steam up the stainless steel mirrors.

* it takes her seven tries to get the photograph right.

* it is difficult to take a picture of a steamed-up mirror.

* they say a photograph can free the subject's soul, the same way a mirror can trap it.

* what they say is true.

* it will be sad to say goodbye to my friend, but I am ready to go.

* fifty eight years is too long to be trapped in a mirror.

- Barbara Graham, an innocent woman, executed at San Quentin State Prison in 1955, set free in 2013

@Aleeab4u

This was such an interesting and clever take on the prompt- put the actual photograph into the story. I love how you set the scene, and described the picture: “Still, the photograph makes her yearn, as if it's her in the picture, watching the rain, searching for connection.” But it was this line: “His fingers skim across skin bared where her dress dips, making her shiver and wish she was brave.” that made me shiver too. Thank you-

She stares at the photograph, sipping her chilled complimentary wine. She's viewed all of the photography showing in the gallery tonight, but only this one drew her back.

"Like it?"

The voice has a warm male timbre, easily recognizable with its Scottish burr.

He laughs softly. "You've been staring at it for near twenty minutes."

She starts at this. "Really?"

"What do you see that draws you so?"

"It's haunting. She's been hurt, and she's sad, alone." The opinion is out before she can censure herself. She doesn't want to insult him, finding melancholy where none may exist. Still, the photograph makes her yearn, as if it's her in the picture, watching the rain, searching for connection.

Connor moves closer.

"She's only looking in the wrong direction," he replies quietly, voice a caress. "She doesn't see what's right behind her."

His fingers skim across skin bared where her dress dips, making her shiver and wish she was brave.

"It's never that simple."

"It is, lass. All you have to do is turn around.”

@denverpopcorn

Your words made me smile. You’ve managed to create strong characters and a story quickly, with short sentences and few words. I admire that so much. This woman? Pretty sure she’s a friend of mine. The Marine? Yeah, I’ve met him too. The matter-of-fact comments make it so real: “They had yet to land, after all.” and “Full of nerve, this one.” (I want to know what happens next) Thank you-

At the airport, the Marine carried her bags to the gate.

"You're a wild one, aren't you," he had said, but that was not what turned her head. It was the ownership. The way he presumed to be more than a stranger she had only just met during a layover. He had boasted of surprising his mother with a visit.

There was rain on the tarmac. She looked past it. Then the pilot announced it was time to turn off all electronic devices, the lifeline to her husband who hadn't called. No surprise.

But the bag carrier, he sat ten rows in front of her. She counted. She shouldn't have, but she did.

Anna and the Marine, she thought for a name of this story she tinkered with during the flight. The details had yet to be sorted. They had yet to land, after all.

When they arrived three states over, her heart hammered. She should stroll past him. Flash a brief smile. Good-bye.

But he had waited for her.

"How long is your layover?" Full of nerve, this one.

"Four hours," she said, walking. She caught his smile anyway.

CONGRATULATIONS @AnnaLund2011

Thank you to @moonlit__girl for judging and to everyone who participated.

Friday, April 19, 2013

There's no such thing as writer's block. When you're stuck, write anyway. You can fix it later. If every writer waited for inspiration, for just the right moment, very little writing would get done.

2. The first and last books you fell in love with?

The first is easy. I read 1984 when I was 16. I felt so connected to poor Winston Smith that (SPOILER ALERT) when he gave up at the end, I was devastated. I threw the book at the wall across the room. I stewed for several minutes. And then I went over, picked up the book, and read it again.

The last book I fell in love with was probably Bloodman by Robert Pobi. He's created an incredibly compelling character here. An FBI profiler who is so messed up inside he might be worse than the people he's chasing. If you like your protagonists dark and tattooed, read this.

3. What are you listening to right now?

Spongebob and Patrick as they learn karate.

4. If you could be a superhero, what would your super power be?

I'd be able to glean information from the world like I had Bluetooth in my head.

5. Suppose you could travel to any place in time and history. When and where are you going?

I have no good answer for this. The "resurrection" of Jesus, with a video camera? The birth of my first child so I could experience it again? The dawn of the universe? Maybe that time in 1989 when I broke my hand so I could tell myself "Don't chase that Mustang. Nothing good will come of it." None of these are satisfying answers. I suppose I'd stay right where I am. It's a good life.

WINNER... @moonlit__girl

There were so many good ones. So many. But I kept coming back to this one. I read it again and again and again. The more I read it, the deeper it got. Goosebumps deep. This woman. I know her through your words. I feel for her. I understand how this happened and I feel like I understand how she wishes it hadn’t but is glad it did. This line “realized i had started cheating with that first smile” killed me. It still frickin kills me. And that ending. Good lord that ending. Thank you for writing this.

i wasn't unhappy at home and i wasn't looking

for the attention (but i liked it)

i flirted back because i thought it was

safe, thought you were safe.

there was no way that you, fresh

out of college, beautiful and

hard in all the right places,

would want me, married and momma.

i flirted because it was fun, just fun

a guilty pleasure but innocuous.

i liked you- not the kind of like

that was safe, but it was still okay

because you didn't like me

like that.

when i told you that day in the bar

i thought we would laugh it off

thought you would feel sorry for me.

i still remember that tortured look

on your face. i'm sure

it matched my own

when i realized you weren't safe

at all

realized i had started cheating with

that first smile.

i wasn't looking for you

but you were good, and it was good

for a while. and now

so many years later

the secret remains though

when i think about the story of us

i don't know who

the wolf was.

SECOND PLACE... @TiramiSue84

Oh. My. God. My heart broke. How did you do that in so few words? Don’t stop doing this, the writing and the making people feel things. I want to take this little girl into my house and make her some oatmeal and give her a hug. This is exactly what I hoped to get with this weird prompt. So very good.

There once was a little girl,

so pretty and lovely and pure.

Her dark hair so shiny and curled,

her face so fair and sweet.

Her eyes as deep as the ocean,

her voice as clear as a raindrop.

There once was a little girl,

so gentle and friendly and endearing.

Whose smile could light a room,

and whose soul was as untainted as freshly fallen snow.

Whose mind was full of curiosity,

and whose touch was as delicate as the brush of a feather.

There once was a little girl,

whose parents had only ever longed for a boy.

A boy so strong and capable and well,

he'd work from dawn to dusk.

Who'd see they made ends meet,

instead of being merely another mouth to feed.

There once was a little girl,

all abandoned and scared.

Left behind all alone in the dark,

whimpering, shivering, crying for help.

Shadowy giants and creepy sounds,

surrounded by them with no way out.

This little girl so weak and frail

with her heart broken she accepted her fate.

She didn't flinch when the beast found her,

and took her in his arms to carry her away.

THIRD PLACE... @sri_ffn

You got me. I didn’t want to be drawn into this because the guy is such a jerk. But there it is. I read it. I stopped. I tried to move on. And then I came back and read it again. What is it about the bad guy that draws us in? Whatever it is, you’ve figured it out. Nice work.

That dress has to go. Red flowing gown with the strapless corset that makes me want to lick, suck and bite her delicious dark red nipples raw. She’s looking at me with fear and fascination, I know that look. All it takes is one lick of her lips and I’m done. That’s my cue, my ticket to fuck her my way, I warned her. She wants to play, let’s play little girl.

My hands are on her breasts, hers are on my cock. She bites my nipples and I’m sucking her neck. I bunch up her dress and lift her hips to position myself. She looks at me and I see lust, passion and sensuality, it matches the red she’s wearing. She wants it hard and fast, I can see it. I don’t care either way because that’s the way she’ll get it, over and over again until she makes me stop which she can’t, no one can. She surprises me by thrusting right back; her head hits the wall with every thrust. She’s letting me fuck her the way I crave. Next thing I know, she claws my back and draws blood in her bliss. This

one’s mine.

HONORABLE MENTION... @lellabeth

Gah! Not only did you almost make me cry, you got me thinking about life and how it’s not things that happen to us that matter, it’s the people we know. It’s the people who love us that really direct the course of things. She has someone who loves her, and I hope that’s enough.

I turn my head away when you enter the room, ignoring the tears burning my eyelids as you run a thumb across the bandage covering my wrist in a line parallel to the one meant to end my life. The sob that you try to hold back escapes anyway, the sound rubbing at my skin more than any gauze could.

“You want to die?”

Nothing has ever felt this bad.

“It... it’s just too much, you know? I’m tired of fighting all the time. It hurts, and it’s so dark. Always dark, and I can’t find my way out. I’m terrified that I’ll always feel this way, that this void will always be inside me.” I whisper, and the shame in my voice cuts even more than the words, even more than the pressure of your hand against my ribboned skin.

But then your arms come around me, strong and tight and suffocating, weaving until you’re pressing my limbs into my torso and holding me together.